CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


ALINE 


UC-NRLF 


115    7DE 


• 

1 VI 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 
ALINE      KILMER 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 

BY 

ALINE     KILMER 


NEW  ^SJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 

JOYCE 


143 


For  permission  to  print  some  of  these  poems  I 
thank  America,  The  Churchman,  The  Countryside, 
The  Delineator,  Good  Housekeeping,  Harper's 
Weekly,  House  and  Garden,  The  Outlook,  The  Phila 
delphia  Ledger,  Pictorial  Review,  Scribner's  and  the 
New  York  Times. 


vn 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

AMBITION 13 

THE  MOTHER'S  HELPER 14 

A  DIDACTIC  POEM  TO  DEBORAH 15 

AN  AUTUMN  WALK  WITH  DEBORAH 16 

EXPERIENCE 17 

CANDLES  THAT  BURN 18 

PREVISION 19 

DOROTHY'S  GARDEN 20 

JUSTICE 21 

FOR  TWO  BIRTHDAYS 22 

TO  ROSE  AWAY 23 

FOR  A  PROUD  BABY 24 

"YOU  ARE  MORE  BLESSED" 25 

TO  A  SICK  CHILD 26 

"A  WIND  IN  THE  NIGHT" 27 

"WHEN  YOU  HAD  BEEN  DEAD" 28 

TO  ROSE 29 

OLIM  MEMINISSE  JUVABIT 30 

HAUNTED 31 

THE  WINDY  NIGHT 33 

I  SHALL  NOT  BE  AFRAID 34 

IN  SPRING 35 

HIGH  HEART 36 

CHRISTMAS 37 

THE  GARDEN  CHILD     ,  38 


[a.] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  LOST  FOREST 39 

COW  SONG 40 

REMEMBRANCE 41 

FLOWER  DANCERS 42 

MORNING-GLORIES 43 

HILL-COUNTRY 44 

COMPENSATION 45 

IN  A  HALL  BEDROOM 47 

TO  A  YOUNG  AVIATOR 49 

THE  MASQUERADER 50 

THE  MORNING  SHADOW 51 

AFTER  GRIEVING 52 

SPRING  SORROW 53 

AGE  INVADING 54 

PORTRAIT  OF  AN  OLD  LADY 55 

TO  TWO  LITTLE  SISTERS  OF  THE  POOR 56 

MOUNTAINS 57 

TO  A  LADY  COMPLIMENTING 59 

GREEN  GRAVEL 60 

THE  WHITE  MOTH 62 

HONEY-WITCH 63 

TO  A   SILLY  POOR  SOUL 65 

MOONLIGHT 67 

MY  MIRROR  68 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


AMBITION 

Kenton  and  Deborah,  Michael  and  Rose, 
These  are  fine  children  as  all  the  world  knows; 
But  into  my  arms  in  my  dreams  every  night 
Come  Peter  and  Christopher,  Faith  and  Delight. 

Kenton  is  tropical,  Rose  is  pure  white, 
Deborah  shines  like  a  star  in  the  night; 
Michael's  round  eyes  are  as  blue  as  the  sea, 
And  nothing  on  earth  could  be  dearer  to  me. 

But  where  is  the  baby  with  Faith  can  compare? 
What  is  the  colour  of  Peterkin's  hair? 
Who  can  make  Christopher  clear  to  my  sight, 
Or  show  me  the  eyes  of  my  daughter  Delight? 

When  people  inquire  I  always  just  state: 
"I  have  four  nice  children  and  hope  to  have  eight. 
Though  the  first  four  are  pretty  and  certain  to  please, 
Who  knows  but  the  rest  may  be  nicer  than  these?" 

[IS] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


THE  MOTHER'S  HELPER 

I  love  all  my  children  far  more  than  I  thought  to ; 
They  do  everything  just  the  way  that  they  ought  to, 
And  the  ones  that  can  talk  say  their  prayers  as  they're 

taught  to; 

But  still  every  night  as  I  sit  at  my  sewing, 
My  mind  turned  adrift  on  its  own  pleasures  going, 
Underneath  my  wild  thoughts  is  a  steady  prayer  flowing : 

St.  Brigid,  please  keep 

My  babies  asleep! 

St.  Rita  assists  me  when  things  are  past  bearing, 
St.  Christopher  helps  me  when  forth  I  am  faring, 
But  the  care  of  my  children  St.  Brigid  is  sharing. 
They  are  wilful  and  happy  and  dear  beyond  measure, 
No  riches  could  equal  the  worth  of  my  treasure; 
But  in  spite  of  my  love  and  my  pride  and  my  pleasure, 

St.  Brigid,  please  keep 

My  babies  asleep! 


[14] 


A   DIDACTIC    POEM   TO   DEBORAH 


A  DIDACTIC  POEM  TO  DEBORAH 

Deborah  dear,  when  you  are  old, 
Tired  and  grey,  with  pallid  brow, 

Where  will  you  put  the  blue  and  gold 
And  radiant  rose  that  tint  you  now? 

You  are  so  fair,  so  gay,  so  sweet! 

How  can  I  bear  to  watch  you  grow, 
Knowing  that  soon  those  twinkling  feet 

Must  go  the  ways  all  children  go? 

Deborah,  put  the  blue  and  gold 
And  rosy  beauty  that  is  you, 

Into  your  heart. that  it  may  hold 

Beauty  to  last  your  whole  life  through. 

Then,  though  the  world  be  tossed  and  torn, 
Greyer  than  ashes  and  as  sad, 

Though  fate  may  make  your  way  forlorn, 
Deborah  dear,  you  shall  be  glad. 


[15] 


CANDLES  THAT   BURN 


AN  AUTUMN  WALK  WITH  DEBORAH 

Over  the  limp  and  sallow  grasses, 

Deborah,  will  you  walk  with  me? 
You  may  gather  gentians  in  purple  masses 

And  honeypods  from  the  locust  tree. 

Brown  leaves  cover  the  partridge  berry, 
Holding  it  safe  for  your  eager  hand. 

Barberry  bright  and  cornelian  cherry 
Offering  scarlet  jewels  stand. 

I  shall  dress  you  up  as  an  elf-queen,  twining 
Bittersweet  wreaths  for  your  golden  head ; 

Your  leaf-brown  cloak  with  its  orange  lining 
I  shall  hang  with  garlands  yellow  and  red. 

Let  us  leave  this  place  while  the  sunlight  lingers 
Lest  the  elves  should  covet  your  beauty  bright. 

The  gentians  fall  from  your  tired  fingers 

As  I  carry  you  home  through  the  fading  light. 


[16] 


EXPERIENCE 


EXPERIENCE 

Deborah  danced,  when  she  was  two, 

As  buttercups  and  daffodils  do; 

Spirited,  frail,  naively  bold, 

Her  hair  a  ruffled  crest  of  gold, 

And  whenever  she  spoke  her  voice  went  singing 

Like  water  up  from  a  fountain  springing. 

But  now  her  step  is  quiet  and  slow; 
She  walks  the  way  primroses  go; 
Her  hair  is  yellow  instead  of  gilt, 
Her  voice  is  losing  its  lovely  lilt, 
And  in  place  of  her  wild,  delightful  ways 
A  quaint  precision  rules  her  days. 

For  Deborah  now  is  three,  and  oh, 

She  knows  so  much  that  she  did  not  know. 


[17] 


CANDLES  THAT   BURN 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 

Candles  that  burn  for  a  November  birthday, 

Wreathed  round  with  asters  and  with  goldenrod, 

As  you  go  upward  in  your  radiant  dying 
Carry  my  prayer  to  God. 

Tell  Him  she  is  so  small  and  so  rebellious, 
Tell  Him  her  words  are  music  on  her  lips, 

Tell  Him  I  love  her  in  her  wayward  beauty 
Down  to  her  fingertips. 

Ask  Him  to  keep  her  brave  and  true  and  lovely, 

Vivid  and  happy,  gay  as  she  is  now, 
Ask  Him  to  let  no  shadow  touch  her  beauty, 

No  sorrow  mar  her  brow. 

All  the  sweet  saints  that  came  for  her  baptising, 
Tell  them  I  pray  them  to  be  always  near. 

Ask  them  to  keep  her  little  feet  from  stumbling, 
Her  gallant  heart  from  fear. 

Candles  that  burn  for  a  November  birthday, 
Wreathed  round  with  asters  and  with  goldenrod, 

As  you  go  upward  in  your  radiant  dying, 
Carry  my  prayer  to  God. 

[18] 


PREVISION 


PREVISION 

I  know  you  are  too  dear  to  stay ; 

You  are  so  exquisitely  sweet: 
My  lonely  house  will  thrill  some  day 

To  echoes  of  your  eager  feet. 

I  hold  your  words  within  my  heart, 

So  few,  so  infinitely  dear; 
^Watching  your  fluttering  hands  I  start 

At  the  corroding  touch  of  fear. 

A  faint,  unearthly  music  rings 

From  you  to  Heaven — it  is  not  far! 

A  mist  about  your  beauty  clings 
Like  a  thin  cloud  before  a  star. 

My  heart  shall  keep  the  child  I  knew, 
When  you  are  really  gone  from  me, 

And  spend  its  life  remembering  you 
As  shells  remember  the  lost  sea. 


[19] 


CANDLES  THAT   BURN 


DOROTHY'S  GARDEN 

Dear,  in  all  your  garden  I  have  planted  yellow  lilies, 
Dainty  yellow  lilies  everywhere  you  go: 

They  are  nodding  slim  and  stately  down  the  paths  along 

the  hedges, 
Delicately  stepping  they  curtsey  in  a  row. 

So  when  you  walk  among  them  like  a  lily  in  your  slim- 
ness, 

With  your  shining  head  just  bending  graciously, 
All  the  little  angels  that  look  down  upon  your  garden 

Will  wonder  which  is  lily  and  which  is  Dorothy. 


[20] 


JUSTICE 


JUSTICE 

Michael,  come  in !     Stop  crying  at  the  idoor. 

Come  in  and  see  the  evil  you  have  done. 

Here  is  your  sister's  doll  with  one  leg  gone, 
Naked  and  helpless  on  the  playroom  floor. 
"Poor  child!  poor  child!  now  he  can  never  stand. 

With  one  leg  less  he  could  not  even  sit !" 
She  mourned,  but  first,  with  swift  avenging  hand, 

She  smote,  and  I  am  proud  of  her  for  it. 

Michael,  my  sympathies  are  all  for  you. 

Your  cherub  mouth,  your  miserable  eyes, 

Your  grey-blue  smock  tear-spattered  and  your  cries 
Shatter  my  heart,  but  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
He  was  her  baby  and  the  fear  of  bears 

Lay  heavy  on  him  so  he  could  not  sleep 
But  in  the  crook  of  her  dear  arm,  she  swears. 

So,  Michael,  she  was  right  and  you  must  weep. 


[21] 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


FOR  TWO  BIRTHDAYS 

Whenever-  I  light  the  candles  for  your  birthday 

My  memory  lights  two  more, 
Two  ghostly  candles  burning  with  your  candles 

Where  hers  burned  once  before. 

Whenever  I  see  you  at  your  birthday  table, 

Across  from  you  I  see 
A  gentle  ghost  that  sits  among  us  laughing, 

Laughing  adorably. 

She  would  have  been  the  gayest  at  the  party, 
She  always  was  the  gladdest  thing  on  earth: 

Now  she  is  gayer  still,  for  she  is  taken 
Into  celestial  mirth. 

With  God  and  all  the  saints  and  all  the  angels 

She  shares  her  birthday  cake. 
So  let  us  keep  your  birthday  candles  burning 

Joyously,  for  her  sake. 


[22] 


TO   KOSE  AWAY 


TO  ROSE  AWAY 

Little  white  moon  of  my  heart 

Since  you  have  gone  away 
I  miss  your  cry  when  you  wake  by  night, 

Your  smile  when  you  wake  by  day. 
I  am  glad  when  the  daylight  fades 

For  my  dreams  are  lovely  things ; 
Then  in  the  dark  you  come  to  me 

On  softly  fluttering  wings. 

When  in  the  afternoon, 

Sailing  the  cloudless  sky, 
Over  the  shimmering  summer  earth 

The  pale  little  moon  slips  by, 
In  the  curve  of  her  frail  white  bow 

Your  shadowy  face  I  see, 
And  I  like  to  think  that  she  has  you  there 

Bringing  you  back  to  me. 


[23] 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


FOR  A  PROUD  BABY 

Flower  of  children,  if  you  knew 

All  the  things  you  might  be  proud  of ! 

Curls  and  dimples  are  a  few 

Charms  you  have  a  gracious  crowd  of. 

With  your  dark,  delightful  eyes 
You  can  break  a  heart  or  mend  it. 

I  know  you  are  not  really  wise, 
But  how  well  you  can  pretend  it ! 

Though  your  wickedness  and  wit 
Very  clever  in  your  sight  be, 

Yet  you  are  not,  I  admit, 
As  conceited  as  you  might  be. 


[24] 


"YOU  ARE   MOKE   BLESSED" 


"YOU  ARE  MORE  BLESSED" 

You  are  more  blessed  than  other  babies  are: 
Your  shining  eyes  grow  brighter  every  day 

With  radiance  that  reminds  me  of  the  star 
That  showed  where  Jesus  lay. 

I  like  to  think  that  you  are  set  apart, 

A  flower  that  never  sprang  from  earthly  loam, 

A  rose  of  Heaven  that  nestles  in  my  heart 
And  dreams  about  its  home. 


[*6] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


TO  A  SICK  CHILD 

I  would  make  you  cookies 

But  you  could  not  eat  them ; 
I  would  bring  you  roses 

But  you  would  not  care. 
In  your  scornful  beauty, 

Arrogant  and  patient, 
Though  I'd  die  to  please  you 

You  lie  silent  there. 

Your  once  wanton  sister 

Creeps  about  on  tiptoe, 
And  your  brother  hurries 

At  your  slightest  nod : 
Watching  at  your  bedside 

When  you  sleep  I  tremble 
Lest  before  you  waken 

You  go  back  to  God. 


[26] 


"A  WIND  IN  THE  NIGHT" 


"A  WIND  IN  THE  NIGHT'* 

A  wind  rose  in  the  night, 

(She  had  always  feared  it  so!) 

Sorrow  plucked  at  my  heart 
And  I  could  not  help  but  go. 

Softly  I  went  and  stood 

By  her  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 
Dazed  with  grief  I  watched 

The  candles  flaring  and  tall. 

The  wind  was  wailing  aloud: 

I  thought  how  she  would  have  cried 

For  my  warm  familiar  arms 
And  the  sense  of  me  by  her  side. 

The  candles  flickered  and  leapt, 
The  shadows  jumped  on  the  wall. 

She  lay  before  me  small  and  still 
And  did  not  care  at  all. 


[27] 


CANDLES  THAT  BURN 


"WHEN  YOU  HAD  BEEN  DEAD" 

When  you  had  been  dead  a  week 

I  entered  a  shining  shop, 

And  there  in  a  neat  pink  row 

Lay  little  dolls  made  of  soap. 

And  I  thought,  "I  will  take  one  homt. 

How  she  will  laugh  to  see  it! 

How  it  will  bob  in  her  bath 

And  slip  through  her  dripping  fingers !" 

Only  a  moment  I  smiled. 

Only  a  moment  I  dreamed  it. 

Then  my  heart  stood  still  with  pain 

And  I  went  out  into  the  darkness. 


TO  aOSE 


TO  ROSE 

They  told  me  the  one  who  died  would  be  always  near  me, 
That  I  had  one  child  who  could  never  grow  old  and 
sad; 

I  should  always  have  your  beautiful  face  to  cheer  me, 
Your  voice  to  make  me  glad. 

Oh,  I  have  prayed  till  my  heart  was  weary  with  praying, 
Hoping,  if  only  in  dreams,  to  feel  you  near, 

To  find  the  truth  in  what  they  were  always  saying — 
That  you  would  be  with  me,  dear. 

Were  they  only  trying  to  help  me  face  the  morrow? 

Or  did  they  really  believe  the  things  they  said? 
The  only  dream  1  have  had  of  you  brought  but  sorrow: 

I  dreamed  that  you  were  not  dead. 


[89] 


CANDLES  THAT   BURN 


OLIM  MEMINISSE  JUVABIT 

Sometime  it  may  be  pleasing  to  remember 

The  curls  about  your  brow, 
To  talk  about  your  eyes,  your  smile,  your  clearness, 

But  it  is  anguish  now. 

Often  I  feel  that  I  must  speak  and  tell  them 

Of  all  your  golden  ways, 
How  all  the  words  you  ever  spoke  were  happy. 

Joy-filled  your  laughing  days. 

But  though  I  miss  you  every  empty  moment 

Of  all  my  longing  years, 
How  can  I  speak  about  your  thrilling  beauty 

When  all  my  thoughts  are  tears? 

Sometime  it  may  be  pleasing  to  remember 

The  curls  about  your  brow, 

The  way  you  turned  your  head,  your  hands,  youi* 
laughter, 

But  oh,  not  now,  not  now ! 


[80] 


HAUNTED 


HAUNTED 

Your  dying  lips  were  proud  and  sweet 
And  when  you  turned  your  head  away 
Against  the  pillow  where  you  lay 
My  heart  was  broken  at  your  feet. 

0  quivering  lips  that  would  be  gay, 
What  was  it  that  you  tried  to  say? 
There  was  a  thing  you  would  have  said, 
There  was  a  word  you  never  spoke; 

It  rose  between  us  by  your  bed. 
There  came  a  look  of  hurt  surprise 
In  your  unfathomable  eyes, 
And  then  it  was  that  my  heart  broke. 

So  now  wherever  I  may  turn 

1  see  your  wistful,  following  eyes; 
I  see  that  anguished  question  burn 
On  lips  that  laugh  in  Paradise. 

If  I  had  been  in  your  dear  place 
You  never  would  have  failed  me  so! 
You  always  read  upon  my  face 

[31] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


Thoughts  that  myself  could  scarcely  know. 
Oh,  how  I  scorned  my  fettered  soul 
Because  it  could  not  leap  the  space 
That  held  me  from  your  lovely  goal ! 

How  many  a  trivial  little  word 
And  things  you  said  to  me  apart, 
Strange  sayings  no  one  else  has  heard, 
I  keep  safe  buried  in  my  heart. 
But  the  last  thing  you  would  have  said, 
I  shall  not  know  it :  you  are  dead. 


[32] 


THE   WINDY   NIGHT 


THE  WINDY  NIGHT 

You  say  you  love  to  hear  the  wind 
Like  brazen  trumpets  in  the  night; 

That  all  its  martial  panoply 

Wakes  in  your  soul  a  wild  delight. 

You  like  to  hear  upon  the  roof 
The  silver  lances  of  the  rain, 

And  see  the  birches'  cavalry 

Go  sweeping  past  the  window-pane: 

To  see  tall  chestnuts  fall  like  towers, 
While  all  our  happy  house  is  still, 

And  like  a  charge  with  bayonets 
The  cedar  trees  rush  up  the  hill. 

But  I  lie  trembling  in  the  night, 
As  dark  and  wild  as  night  can  be, 

Remembering  songs  that  you  have  made 
Till  through  the  night  you  come  to  me. 


[33] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


I  SHALL  NOT  BE  AFRAID 

I  shall  not  be  afraid  any  more, 

Either  by  night  or  day; 
What  would  it  profit  me  to  be  afraid 

With  you  away? 

Now  I  am  brave.     In  the  dark  night  alone 

All  through  the  house  I  go, 
Locking  the  doors  and  making  windows  fast 

When  sharp  winds  blow. 

For  there  is  only  sorrow  in  my  heart ; 

There  is  no  room  for  fear. 
But  how  I  wish  I  were  afraid  again, 

My  dear,  my  dear! 


[34] 


IN   SPRING 


IN  SPRING 

I  do  not  know  which  is  worse  when  you  are  away: 
Long  grey  days  with  the  lisping  sound  of  the  rain 

And  then  when  the  lilac  dusk  is  beginning  to  fall 
The  thought  that  perhaps  you  may  never  come  back 
again ; 

Or  days  when  the  world  is  a  shimmer  of  blue  and  gold, 
Sparkling  newly  all  in  the  dear  spring  weather, 

When  with  a  heart  that  is  torn  apart  by  pain 
I  walk  alone  in  ways  that  we  went  together. 


[35] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


HIGH  HEART 

The  sea  that  I  watch  from  my  window 

Is  grey  and  white; 
I  see  it  toss  in  the  darkness 

All  the  night. 
My  soul  swoops  down  to  sorrow 

As  the  sea-gulls  dip, 
And  all  my  love  flies  after 

Your  lonely  ship. 

Yet  I  am  not  despairing 

Though  we  must  part, 
Nothing  can  be  too  bitter 

For  my  high  heart. 
All  in  the  dreary  midnight, 

Watching  the  flying  foam, 
I  wait  for  the  golden  morning 

When  you  come  home. 


[36] 


CHRISTMAS 


CHRISTMAS 

"And  shall  you  have  a  Tree,"  they  say, 
"Now  one  is  dead  and  one  away?" 

Oh,  I  shall  have  a  Christmas  Tree! 
Brighter  than  ever  it  shall  be; 
Dressed  out  with  coloured  lights  to  make 
The  room  all  glorious  for  your  sake. 
And  under  the  Tree  a  Child  shall  sleep 
Near  shepherds  watching  their  wooden  sheep. 
Threads  of  silver  and  nets  of  gold, 
Scarlet  bubbles  the  Tree  shall  hold, 
And  little  glass  bells  that  tinkle  clear. 
I  shall  trim  it  alone  but  feel  you  near. 

And  when  Christmas  Day  is  almost  done, 
When  they  all  grow  sleepy  one  by  one, 
When  Kenton's  books  have  all  been  read, 
When  Deborah's  climbing  the  stairs  to  bed, 

I  shall  sit  alone  by  the  fire  and  see 
Ghosts  of  you  both  come  close  to  me. 
For  the  dead  and  the  absent  always  stay 
With  the  one  they  love  on  Christmas  Day. 

[37] 


CANDLES   THAT   BUEN 


THE  GARDEN  CHILD 

Once  in  my  childhood  I  knew  an  old  garden, 

Shut  in  by  grey  pickets  and  crowded  with  grass ; 

Old  flowers  grew  in  it,  clove  pinks  and  white  lilies, 
And  moss  roses  choked  up  the  path  with  their  mass. 

It  lay  all  alone  in  the  curve  of  a  river 

Where  little  grey  boats  floated  by  on  the  tide ; 

No  dwelling  was  near  it,  no  pathway  led  to  it, 
And  harsh  river-grasses  crept  up  on  each  side. 

Sp€edwell  and  lavender,  small  brown  chrysanthemums, 
Mixed  in  great  tangles  where  myrtle  ran  wild, 

And  sweetly  mysterious,  safe  though  unguarded, 
Lay  hid  in  a  corner  the  grave  of  a  child. 

X 

Often  I  wondered  if  that  child  had  played  there, 
Played  there  as  I,  twining  wreaths  for  my  hair, 

When  the  pickets  were  white  and  the  flowers  were  tended 
And  no  little  grave  held  its  mystery  there. 

Who  were  the  people  who  once  had  lived  near  there 
Making  the  wilderness  bloom  like  a  rose, 

Then  left  like  a  dream  leaving  nothing  behind  them 
But  the  grave  of  a  child  in  a  small  garden-close? 

[38] 


THE  LOST   FOREST 


THE  LOST  FOREST 

I  walked  with  my  mother 
Where  the  tall  trees  grow, 

And  she  showed  me  tiny  tables 
Where  the  elves  sit  in  a  row, 

And  the  bells  that  ring  to  call  them 
When  the  night  winds  blow. 

There  were  small  frosted  toadstools, 

And  little  cups  of  wine, 
And  velvet  banks  to  rest  on 

Where  moss  grew  thick  and  fine, 
And  a  smooth  brown  ring  for  dancing 

Underneath  a  pine. 

But  now  when  I  go  walking 

All  the  way  is  clear; 
The  little  bells  are  silent 

And  the  moss  grown  sere, 
And  I  know  that  in  the  moonlight 

Not  an  elf  comes  near. 

x 

[89] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


COW  SONG 

Klang!  Kling!  the  cow-bells  ring 
As  the  cows  come  home  at  night. 

Slowly  they  pass  over  the  grass, 
Black  and  brown  and  white. 

Sleepy  and  slow  each  one  will  go 
With  daisies  and  clover  in  her; 

At  the  milking  stall  she'll  give  them  all 
As  milk  for  Kent  on' s  dinner. 


[40] 


EEMEMBKANCE 


REMEMBRANCE 

I  went  back  to  a  place  I  knew 

When  I  was  very,  very  small; 
The  same  old  yellow  roses  grew 

Against  the  same  old  wall. 

Each  thing  I  knew  was  in  its  place ; 

The  well,  the  white  stones  by  the  road, 
The  box-hedge  with  its  cobweb  lace, 

And  a  small  spotted  toad. 

And  yet  the  place  seemed  changed  and  still ; 

The  house  itself  had  shrunk,  I  know. 
And  then  my  eyes  began  to  fill — 

For  I  had  always  loved  it  so ! 


[41] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


FLOWER  DANCERS 

To-day  I  played  with  flowers, 
The  yellow,  yellow  daisies, 
The  rainbow  morning-glories 

And  lilies  pale  and  grand. 
They  held  their  dainty  skirts  out, 
They  bowed  among  the  grasses, 
And  danced  a  tilting  minuet 

Shadowy  hand  in  hand. 


[42] 


MORNING-GLORIES 


MORNING-GLORIES 

When  I  was  small  I  used  to  play 
In  an  old  garden  bright  with  flowers. 

I  often  used  to  run  away 

From  home,  and  play  in  there  for  hours. 

There  were  two  ladies  who  lived  there, 
Dressed  all  in  black  with  creamy  laces. 

They  had  soft  snowy  puffs  of  hair 
And  wrinkled,  pleasant,  dim  old  faces. 

They  had  such  kind  and  pretty  ways ! 

They  used  to  tell  me  lovely  stories, 
And  let  me  on  warm  sunny  days 

Blow  bubbles  with  great  morning-glories. 

I  wonder  if  they  know  how  much 
I  think  of  them  now  I  am  older. 

I  often  seem  to  feel  the  touch 

Of  soft  old  hands  upon  my  shoulder. 


[43] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


HILL-COUNTRY 

Brown  hill  I  have  left  behind, 
Why  do  you  haunt  me  so? 

You  never  were  warm  and  kind 
And  I  was  glad  to  go. 

Is  it  because  there  lies, 

Up  in  your  cold  brown  breast, 
One  who  brought  joy  to  my  eyes 

And  to  my  heart  brought  rest? 

Never  again  shall  I  see 

The  flash  in  her  answering  eye. 
Never  again  shall  the  heart  in  me 

Stir  as  she  passes  by. 

Hill,  you  are  proud  and  cold, 
Haughty  and  high  your  face ; 

Is  it,  O  hill,  because  you  hold 
Her  in  your  grim  embrace? 


[44] 


COMPENSATION 


COMPENSATION 

I  have  two  children:  one  who  came 

When  on  my  head 
Life  shed  its  joys  without  a  thought 

Of  pain  or  dread ; 
And  one  when  ashes  of  despair 

Blackened  my  bread. 

My  child  of  joy  has  sombre  eyes 

Like  Mimer's  well; 
Surely  the  secrets  of  the  world 

Those  lips  could  tell; 
And  wisdom  on  his  infant  soul 

Untimely  fell. 

My  child  of  woe  has  laughing  eyes 

Like  dancing  light ; 
A  leaping  flame  of  innocence 

Has  burned  her  white ; 
And  in  her  face  I  dare  not  look, 

It  is  so  bright. 

[45] 


CANDLES  THAT   BURN 


My  little  pagan's  life  should  hold 

Joy  without  taint; 
Under  the  gleaming  sword  of  pain 

His  soul  might  faint: 
Not  all  the  powers  of  Hell  could  daunt 

My  happy  saint! 


[46] 


IN   A   HALL   BEDROOM 


IN  A  HALL  BEDROOM 

"In  the  long  border  on  the  right 

I  shall  plant  larkspur  first,"  she  thinks. 
"Peonies  and  chrysanthemums 

And  then  sweet-scented  maiden  pinks. 

"The  border  on  the  left  shall  hold 

Nothing  but  masses  of  white  phlox. 
Forget-me-nots  shall  edge  this  one, 
The  one  across  be  edged  with  box. 

"The  sun-dial  in  the  centre  stands. 

There  morning-glories  bright  shall  twine. 
And  in  the  strip  at  either  end 

Shall  grow  great  clumps  of  columbine. 

"There  is  no  garden  in  the  world 

So  beautiful  as  mine,"  she  dreams. 
Rising,  she  walks  the  little  space 
To  where  her  narrow  window  gleams. 

[47] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


She  gazes  through  the  dingy  pane 
To  where  the  street  is  noisy  still, 

And  tends  with  pitiable  care 
A  tulip  on  the  window-sill. 


[48] 


TO  A  YOUNG  AVIATOR 


TO  A  YOUNG  AVIATOE 

|When  you  go  up  to  die 

Some  not  far  distant  day, 
I  wonder  will  you  try 
To  tear  your  mask  away, 
And  look  life  in  the  eyes 
For  once  without  disguise? 

Behind  your  mask  may  hide 

What  treacherous,  covered  fires ! 
What  hidden,  torturing  pride! 
What  sorrows,  what  desires! 
Whatever  there  may  be 
There  will  be  none  to  see. 

Yet  I  think  when  you  meet 

Death  coming  through  the  skies, 
Calmly  his  face  you'll  greet, 
Coldly,  without  surprise ; 
Then  die  without  a  moan, 
Still  masked  although  alone. 

[49] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


THE  MASQUERADER 

You  were  no  more  to  me  than  many  others, 
I  never  thought  you  beautiful  or  bright, 

And  yet  I  find  your  memory  returning 
Many  a  night. 

Again  I  hear  your  strange,  heart-broken  laughter, 
Laughter  more  pitiful  than  any  tears ; 

Again  I  see  your  gallant  head  uplifted 
Through  heavy  years. 

You  held  so  tight  the  fragile  toy  you  wanted, 
And  when  it  broke  you  would  not  let  it  go ; 

You  would  not  let  us  guess  your  heart  broke  with  it- 
You  played  you  did  not  know. 

Now  you  are  gone  we  see  how  well  you  suffered, 
We  see  the  valiant  way  you  struggled  on. 

Can  you  forgive  our  foolish  condescension, 
Now  you  are  gone? 


[50] 


THE   MORNING   SHADOW 


THE  MORNING  SHADOW 

I  who  have  never  known  sorrow 

Wait  for  it  morning  and  evening; 

For  the  footstep  of  grief  on  my  threshold, 

The  drip  of  tears  on  my  hearthstone, 

The  pitiless  hours  of  lonely,  uncomforted  woe. 

Never  a  life  without  sorrow! 
But,  oh,  when  will  mine  be  upon  me? 
When  will  the  years  seem  long 
That  now  slip  happily  by  me? 
The  light  of  the  skies  be  dimmed 
To  eyes  that  are  weary  with  weeping? 


[51] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


AFTER  GRIEVING 

When  I  was  young  I  was  so  sad ! 

I  was  so  sad!     I  did  not  know 
Why  any  living  thing  was  glad 

Vhen  one  must  some  day  sorrow  so. 
But  now  that  grief  has  come  to  me 
My  heart  is  like  a  bird  set  free. 

I  always  knew  that  it  would  come ; 

I  always  felt  it  waiting  there: 
Its  shadow  kept  my  glad  voice  dumb 
And  crushed  my  gay  soul  with  despair. 
But  now  that  I  have  lived  with  grief 
I  feel  an  exquisite  relief. 

Athletes  who  know  their  proven  strength, 
Ships  that  have  shamed  the  hurricane: 
These  are  my  brothers,  and  at  length 
I  shall  c.ome  back  to  joy  again. 
However  hard  my  life  may  be 
I  know  it  shall  not  conquer  me. 


SPRING   SORROW 


SPRING  SORROW 

Sorrow  to  see  the  spring! 
Why  do  we  smile  when  she  wakes  the  rose? 
For  sleep  is  sweeter  as  every  one  knows, 

And  cruel  the  wakening. 

Hark  to  a  weary  sound ! 
It  is  the  sap  that  swells  like  tears 
In  the  heart  of  trees  that  are  grey  with  years, 

And  falls  like  tears  to  the  ground. 

Futile  the  brave  display, 
The  pitiful  challenge  of  bud  and  leaf, 
The  proud  pretence  that  is  yet  so  brief 

And  dies,  like  spring,  in  a  day. 

Sorrow  to  see  the  spring! 
Why  are  we  glad  at  the  birth  of  the  rose? 
For  death  is  better  as  every  one  knows, 

And  life  is  a  bitter  thing. 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


AGE  INVADING 

I  shall  not  run  upstairs  again, 

And  oh,  the  foolish  grief  I  feel ! 
I  must  go  carefully  or  pain 

Will  thrust  me  through  with  its  bright  steel. 

I  never  thought  that  I  should  care 
When  the  first  shadow  fell  on  me. 

I  planned  lace  caps  for  my  white  hair 
And  hoped  to  grow  old  gracefully. 

I  thought  that  when  Age  came  I'd  stand 
(If  Age  should  really  come  at  all!) 

And  greet  him  with  extended  hand 
As  my  last  partner  at  a  ball. 

But  now  when  you  with  easy  grace 

Run  up  ahead  or  wait  for  me, 
Such  bitterness  is  in  my  face 

I  turn  my  head  lest  you  should  see. 


[54] 


PORTRAIT   OF  AN   OLD   LADY 


PORTRAIT  OF  AN  OLD  LADY 

Early  one  morning  as  I  went  a-walking 
I  met  an  old  lady  so  stately  and  tall, 

The  red  of  her  cheeks  gave  a  quiver  of  pleasure 
Like  the  sight  of  red  hollyhocks  by  a  grey  wall. 

Fragrance  of  lavender  clung  to  her,  telling 
Of  linen  piled  high  on  immaculate  shelves; 

You  could  fancy  her  tending  her  garden  or  strolling 
Among  the  proud  roses  that  grow  by  themselves. 

When  I  am  sorrowful,  dreading  the  future, 
Dreaming  of  days  when  my  hair  shall  be  grey, 

It  cheers  me  to  think  of  that  lovely  old  lady, 
Lavender-haunted  and  hollyhock-gay. 


[55] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


TO  TWO  LITTLE  SISTERS  OF  THE  POOR 

Sweet  and  humble  and  gladly  poor, 
The  Grace  of  God  came  in  at  my  door. 

Sorrow  and  death  were  mine  that  day, 
But  the  Grace  of  God  came  in  to  stay  ; 

The  Grace  of  God  that  spread  its  wings 
Over  all  sad  and  pitiful  things. 

Sorrow  turned  to  the  touch  of  God, 
Death  became  but  His  welcoming  nod. 

Grey-eyed,  comforting,  strong  and  brave, 
You  came  to  ask  but  instead  you 


Quickly  you  came  and  went,  you  two, 
But  the  Grace  of  God  stayed  after  you. 


[56] 


MOUNTAINS 


MOUNTAINS 

Over  the  green  and  level  land 

My  sad  eyes  wander  without  hope; 

Here  no  rejoicing  mountains  stand, 
No  strong  and  friendly  slope. 

But  ever  when  I  close  my  eyes 

Tall  mountains  rear  their  stately  forms. 
Against  the  sky  I  watch  them  rise, 

Serene  in  calm  or  storms. 


One  in  the  distance  rises  blue, 

Haloed  by  morning's  earliest  beams. 

This  was  the  peak  my  childhood  knew, 
About  her  clung  my  dreams. 

Over  her  pallor  fell  the  snow, 

The  hot  sun  scorched  her  fertile  breast, 
But  in  the  summer  lightning's  glow 

I  always  loved  her  best. 

[67] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


She  bowed  her  purple  head  in  pain 

As  clouds  rolled  up  from  threatening  space, 

And  let  a  veil  of  silver  rain 

Slip  down  across  her  weeping  face. 


[58] 


TO   A   LADY    COMPLIMENTING 


TO  A  LADY  COMPLIMENTING 

When  I  met  you  an  hour  ago 

My  heart  was  heavy  and  chill; 
Now,  from  your  word  of  praise, 

It  is  glowing  still. 

I 
Ah,  vanitas  vanitatum! 

What  the  Preacher  said  was  true! 
I  always  thought  my  eyes  were  grey 

But  now  I  know  they  are  blue. 


[59] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


GREEN  GRAVEL 

Fidelia  goes  sa'dly  and  sits  in  the  door; 
She  spins  or  she  stares  at  the  white  sanded  floor. 
She  has  never  a  visitor  all  the  day  long, 
And  she  sings  very  softly  this  foolish  old  song: 

"Green  Gravel,  Green  Gravel,  your  grass  Is  so  green! 
The  sweetest,  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  seen! 
Fidelia,  Fidelia,  your  sweetheart  is  dead; 
He  sent  you  this  letter  to  turn  back  your  head." 

But  when  it  is  evening  she  wanders  away 
And  watches  the  children  who  come  out  to  play. 
The  children  are  happy,  they  dance  in  a  ring, 
And  over  and  over  they  merrily  sing: 


"Green  Gravel,  Green  Gravel,  your  grass  is  so  green! 
The  sweetest,  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  seen!" 
She  wants  to  sing  with  them  and  join  in  their  fun 
But  when  she  comes  near  them  away  they  all  run. 

[60] 


GREEN    GRAVEL 


So  late  in  the  evening  she  dances  alone 

And  sings  rather  drearily  round  a  white  stone : 

"Fidelia,  Fidelia,  your  sweetheart  is  dead; 

He  sent  you  this  letter  to  turn  back  your  head." 


[61] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


THE  WHITE  MOTH 

Where  are  you  flying,  White  Moth,  to-night, 

Bearing  a  pale  little  soul  away, 
A  sad  little  soul  that  quivers  with  fright 

As  the  moonbeams  over  your  frail  wings  play? 

Peace!     I  conjure  you,  fly  no  more, 
Come  no  nearer  the  beckoning  flame. 

Wan  little  soul  from  an  unknown  shore, 
Not  by  chance  to  my  light  you  came. 

Somewhere  I  have  known  your  silver  wings, 
Somewhere  I  have  thrilled  to  your  lonely  flight. 

I  am  sad  with  the  ache  of  forgotten  things ; 
Leave  me  alone  in  peace  to-night. 


[62] 


HONEY-WITCH 


HONEY-WITCH 

Gay  Peter  rode  by  the  grey  tower 

And  a  face  leaned  laughing  down, 
With  hair  that  gleamed  from  a  gold  net 

And  eyes  of  angel-brown. 
"She  is  fair,"  he  said  as  he  saw  her, 

"Tender  and  good  and  gay. 
So  pure  that  I  am  all  unworthy," 

And  sighing  he  rode  away. 

Gay  Peter  married  a  good  maid 

Because  of  her  bold  blue  eyes, 
But  ever  he  dreamed  of  the  lady 

Pure  as  the  frosty  skies. 
Everywhere  he  wandered 

He  thought  of  a  heart-shaped  face 
Set  like  a  star  in  a  dark  sky 

As  his  soul's  abiding  place. 

But  up  in  her  tower  the  lady 

Bit  her  honey-coloured  hands  and  cried : 
"Shall  I  never  get  out  of  the  grey  tower? 

Shall  I  never  get  out?"  she  sighed. 

[63] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


But  no  one  guessed  who  passed  there 
That  her  goodness  all  was  lies, 

That  she  had  the  heart  of  a  honey-witch 
Behind  her  angel  eyes. 


[64] 


TO   A   SILLY   POOE   SOUL 


TO  A  SILLY  POOR  SOUL 

"If  ever  thou  gavest  meat  or  drink, 

Every  night e  and  aUe; 
The  fire  shall  never  make  thee  shrink, 
And  Christe  receive  thy  savle" 

For  meat  and  drink  that  you  have  given 
God  will  find  you  a  place  in  Heaven. 

For  the  kind  words  that  you  have  spoken 
God  will  not  let  your  soul  be  broken. 

Bread  on  the  waters  you  have  cast 
And  God  will  save  your  soul  at  last. 

Wherever  you  go — and  the  world  is  wide — • 
My  prayers  shall  be  ever  at  your  side. 

For  I,  perverse  and  foolish,  too, 

Know  the  dark  ways  your  soul  went  through. 

You  who  were  given  the  greatest  grace 
Cast  it  away  with  a  tortured  face. 

[65] 


CANDLES   THAT   BUKN 


But  if  I  see  the  good  in  you 

Will  God  in  His  mercy  not  see  it,  too? 

Will  God  not  make  you  clean  and  whole 
And  Christ  receive  your  silly  poor  soul? 


[66] 


MOONLIGHT 


MOONLIGHT 

The  moon  reached  in  cold  hands  across  the  sill 

And  touched  me  as  I  lay  sleeping; 
And  in  my  sleep  I  thought  of  sorrowful  things : 

I  wakened,  and  I  lay  weeping. 

I  could  hear  on  the  beach  below  the  small  waves  break 

And  fall  on  the  silver  shingle, 
And  the  sound  of  a  footstep  passing  in  the  street 

Where  lamplight  and  moonlight  mingle. 

And  I  said :     "All  day  I  can  turn  my  face  to  the  sun 

And  lead  my  thoughts  to  laughter; 
But  I  hope  in  my  heart  that  I  never  shall  sleep  again 

Because  of  the  pain  thereafter." 

The  moon's  pale  fingers  wandered  across  my  face 
And  the  arm  where  my  hot  cheek  rested, 

And  because  of  the  tears  in  my  eyes  I  could  not  see 
Where  the  black  waves  rocked  moon-crested. 


[67] 


CANDLES   THAT   BURN 


MY  MIRROR 

There  is  a  mirror  in  my  room 
Less  like  a  mirror  than  a  tomb, 
There  are  so  many  ghosts  that  pass 
Across  the  surface  of  the  glass. 

When  in  the  morning  I  arise 
With  circles  round  my  tired  eyes, 
Seeking  the  glass  to  brush  my  hair 
My  mother's  mother  meets  me  there. 

If  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
I  happen  to  go  by  that  way, 
I  see  a  smile  I  used  to  know — 
My  mother,  twenty  years  ago. 

But  when  I  rise  by  candlelight 
To  feed  my  baby  in  the  night, 
Then  whitely  in  the  glass  I  see 
My  dead  child's  face  look  out  at  me. 


[68] 


/    SEP    lot  1936 

17  Dec'4PTM 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


